


Displacement

by OfficialStarsandGutters



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-21
Updated: 2013-01-21
Packaged: 2017-11-26 09:08:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/648939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OfficialStarsandGutters/pseuds/OfficialStarsandGutters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim is angry because someone outsmarted him. Someone is a move ahead. Jim hates being outsmarted above all else. As a result he’s looking for something to take his anger out on. Can’t use the man who did it as he’s currently flying halfway around the world. Mustn’t be able to get his hands on any of the men working for him. That leaves Sebastian.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Displacement

By the time Sebastian reaches the roof his breath is coming in hard, painful pants. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. Going to be late. Going to miss the mark. Can’t miss the mark. Jim’ll kill him. He made sure to emphasise just how important this particular target was. Sebastian can’t afford to lose it. It’s all down to the stupid London traffic and Jim sending him on jobs that are too close together. He’d only just shot a woman through the head under forty minutes ago and spent twenty minutes in a cab stuck on the same street. Eventually he’d got out in the middle of the road, firing the cabbie what was probably twice the actual fair (no time to wait for change) and running the rest of the way.

Sebastian drops to his knees, gritting his teeth as he lands on the rooftop painfully. Possibly cut, more probable that there’s bruises on his knees now. Great. Oh well, Jim does love him covered in bruises. (Although he prefers to put them there himself.) The rifle is out and set up in record time, and Seb is finally starting to get his breathing under control once again. Check wind. Check angle. Watch window through scope. Wait.

Less than five minutes later the target walks through the hall, wall length glass windows leaving him open and easy. Align cross-hairs. Hold breath. Pull trigger. Bang, we all fall down. The man topples like a puppet with cut strings, a few splatters of blood hitting the white wall behind him. Seb watches him go down before swiftly packing his equipment again. He takes the fire escape down, dropping into an alley. Straightening his clothes, he walks from the shadows into daylight, into the busy streets in which he can disappear. Just another face. Another commuter making his way home. Haven’t just murdered anyone, no sir.

He’s halfway home when the text comes through.

_Care to explain why the man I asked you to shoot just boarded a plane to America? -JM_

Sebastian stares at the text, almost walking into a business man. He mumbles an apology, receiving a stern glare in response. Impossible. He’d just put a bullet through the bastard’s head. He’d watched him die with his own eyes. He’d matched the descriptions, the photographs Jim had given to him. Jim didn’t make mistakes, but someone must have given him incorrect information. The man was dead. He was.

_I just made that hit, he’s dead. -SM_

_Get home. Immediately. -JM_

That definitely didn’t sound good. Fan-fucking-tastic. As if Sebastian wasn’t having a bad enough day as it was. He readjusts his bag on his shoulder, breaking into a light jog. When Jim says to get home you’d best do it as quick as possible. Sebastian knows from past experience that any excuse for tardiness will never be good enough. He’s panting again by the time he reaches the flat. It’s not that he’s unfit, he jogs for miles most mornings, it’s just he’s been pushing himself over the speed he’s comfortable at to make it back in good time. Taking a few seconds in the elevator to calm his breathing (the stairs would have been quicker, but damn it he’s tired and he doesn’t want to face Jim panting like a bitch in heat), he runs a hand through his sweat damp hair. What he wants more than anything is a shower and a lie down. Maybe a shag (because he’s never too tired for that). The chances of any of those things are rather slim.

He knows he’s fucked the second he steps into the flat. He can feel it creeping up his spine from the moment he leaves the lift, raising the hairs on the back of his neck. That tension. Sebastian has a sense for Jim in a temper and right now he’s furious. He lets himself in and drops his bag by the door, glancing around curiously. No need to announce himself. Jim knows he’s here. Jim always knows.

Then he appears from the direction of the bedroom, and Sebastian’s stomach tightens in anticipation. Jim has two kinds of anger. He has an anger where he’s all energy building up and ready to explode. He screams, he lashes out wildly, he fights with his hands, teeth and anything within reaching distance. That is when Jim is angry.

The other anger is a whole other kettle of fish. It’s when he’s so enraged he surpasses his anger. There is no energy waiting to explode, only perfect stillness. Like a snake coiled and ready to spring. A leopard crouching in the grass, waiting for it’s prey to pass so it can pounce. This is when he isn’t Jim, he’s something more. Slipped into his Moriarty mindset. He uses knives and other weapons, attacks with precision and purpose. It is a quiet anger and it is deadly. Sebastian can fight back against wild violence, can hit Jim back or pin him down and often enough they end up on the floor, the couch, the bed and fucking just as aggressively as they were fighting. Not with this anger. With this anger Sebastian is expected to keep quiet and take it. He is not allowed to speak unless spoken to, not allowed to defend himself and he is definitely not allowed to strike back.

Jim prowls towards him, and that is what it is. Prowling. It’s a slow, slinking kind of movement, more akin to a large jungle cat than a human. The movements flow like liquid. Sebastian has been through the war, has seen more death and horror than most people could ever imagine, and still there is nothing that strikes more fear into him than Jim Moriarty furious. He feels his throat constrict and hates himself for it a bit. He hates being afraid of Jim, and hates showing it. Swallowing past the lump he steels himself, moving his shoulders back and raising his head, falling into military stance.

“Sebastian, darling.” Jim stops in front of him, so close the front of his cardigan is almost brushing Seb’s shirt. He’s dressed casual. Wasn’t planning on going out today then (Jim believes suits deserve to be saved for special occasions, not carelessly worn about the house.) No one should look that intimidating in a cardigan and jeans, but somehow Jim pulls it off. There’s still a bruise on his collarbone and Sebastian’s eyes want to look, admire, but he doesn’t dare let them drift. Jim’s staring at him, wide, empty eyes so dark they’re almost black. They always darken when he’s angry. Sebastian doesn’t understand how he does it, but it has the desired effect. Those eyes are void of emotion. He knows they will watch without guilt as Seb is ripped apart and stitched back together.

Seb waits for Jim to speak. This is a trick. If he speaks back, he will be punished. He’ll probably be punished anyway, but best put it off for as long as possible. After regarding him coolly for a few minutes with those dark, dark eyes of his Jim does indeed speak.

“The man you shot was a duplicate. The target got word there was a hit on him and fled. Due to your stupidity we will now have to track him half way around the world and work to uncover his fresh identity.”

Sebastian wants to point out that it’s not his fault, he didn’t know all of this. The only information he was given was a time, a location and a few CCTV shots of the man he was after. Not exactly the largest amount of stuff to go on. He wants to tell Jim that he himself didn’t even know the man had fucking fled until he got on the plane, and Jim’s the genius here, how in the world was Sebastian supposed to know? His anger is unfair and misdirected. To anyone else Seb would have pointed these facts out, but he knows Jim. Knows better. Jim is angry because someone outsmarted him. Someone is a move ahead. Jim hates being outsmarted above all else. As a result he’s looking for something to take his anger out on. Can’t use the man who did it as he’s currently flying halfway around the world. Mustn’t be able to get his hands on any of the men working for him. That leaves Sebastian.

Deep down Jim knows it’s not Sebastian’s fault. There’s nothing he could have done different. He went and made his hit as instructed, he killed who he assumed was the man. Jim shouldn’t really be blaming him. But he’s there, and he’s an ideal outlet for Jim to displace his rage on to, just as he so often does.

“Thanks to you, I now have to waste a lot of time, effort and money relocating him so I can send someone to finish the job you botched. What do you have to say for yourself, Moran?”

Sebastian clenches his jaw. His own anger is starting to rise now, fast and fierce as ever. That’s never a good thing. Anger makes him ruthless, makes him do things he regrets.

“Weeeeell?” Jim stretches the word, looking up into his face with a sharp attentiveness, as if expecting the wonders of the universe to fall from Seb’s lips. The darkness in his eyes suggests he’ll settle for no less and if Sebastian dare not deliver he will be severely punished.

“You know right and well it bloody wasn’t my fault. How was I supposed to know the dumb cunt-“

Smack. Jim’s hand collides with his face hard enough to snap his head to the side. The slap comes fast and open handed, making his face burn where it takes impact. He should have known better than to speak back. That’s what Jim wanted. A cue to lash out.

Before Sebastian can even catch his bearings Jim’s on him again, shoving him backwards. He’s small, but stronger than he looks, especially when angry and determined. Sebastian could still over power him. Could catch his thin wrists in one hand and hold them to the wall. Could curl a hand around his throat and squeeze until he can’t draw breath. Could pin him in place until he wears himself out struggling. He could, but he’s not allowed. Not in this game. If he fights back now Jim will hurt him all the worse when he’s least expecting it.

Jim slams him back against the wall, and the impact sends a jolt of pain through his body. There’s a knife at his throat before he even has time to register where Jim pulled it from, the tip pressed beneath his Adam’s apple. Sebastian swallows, throat moving with the action, eyes rolled down in an attempt to watch the knife. He has no doubt Jim will kill him. If he doesn’t die on a job he’ll die by Jim’s hands. The question, as always, is if that day is today. Jim could slit his throat in the blink of an eye and grin as Sebastian’s blood splatters across his pale face. He’d probably be offended the sniper dare stain his shirt in his dying moments.

Sebastian’s eyes slide to meet Jim’s, and he holds his gaze. It takes a fair amount of effort. Jim is a lot more intimidating than people give him credit for on first glance. The dark orbs stare back at him. Empty, cold, merciless. The blade presses closer. Sebastian can feel it bite into his skin. He doesn’t look away. He won’t break completely for Jim. At least, not yet. Not if he can help it. The metal drags. He can feel the sting of skin breaking. This is still only the warm up.

“You know how I frown upon anything less than perfection, sweetheart. You’ve brought this upon yourself.” With that he drags the knife, cutting a line from the base of Sebastian’s throat along his collarbone. He can feel the blood flow, warm and damp, soaking into the material of his shirt. “Strip from the waist up. Now. Don’t doddle.”

Sebastian obediently shrugs his jacket off and pulls his t-shirt over his head, dropping them both in a pile at his feet. Usually he wouldn’t dare abandon clothes on the floor, but he doesn’t think Jim will excuse him to hang them up. The knife comes again before he can even stand straight, slashing across his chest. He grits his teeth, staggering slightly as a wave of light-headedness crashes against him. He can take more than this. He can take a lot more than this before he breaks. He’s not sure if that’s a good or bad thing with Jim in one of his moods.

Within five minutes his torso is covered in red welts. They move from his chest to criss cross over his ribs, then further down to form roads of red along his stomach. Blood is sticky and warm on his skin, and everything stings.

“Turn around,” Jim all but purrs, words low and full of dark promise. With some effort Sebastian turns, putting his arms out to lean heavily against the wall. He can hear footsteps. Jim disappearing down the hall then padding back again. He waits, anticipation making his stomach twist. The only warning he gets before the whip lashes across his back is the quiet swish of air. He’s unprepared so the sudden motion draws an involuntary whimper from his lips before he can stop himself. He hates that some small part of him is enjoying this. Somewhere around the fiftieth lash of the whip the pain starts to shift from just this side of pleasurable to a stage where it simply hurts and he wants it to stop.

Sebastian’s back is on fire. He can feel it, stripes of heat burning over every inch. His eyes are burning but he refuses to cry. Can’t let Jim see him like that. Can’t be weak. His fists clench and release against the wall, nails biting into his palms. The pain doesn’t even act as a distraction, his back is far more painful than anything he can do to himself right now. Jim walks away again and Seb lets out a shaky breath of relief that turns into a sob. He knows better than to think it’s over, but at least he’s getting a break.

“Go to the bathroom and finish undressing. Step into the shower but leave it off. I don’t want you dripping blood all over the flooring.”

Sebastian follows the orders on shaky legs, head spinning with each footstep. Just focus on walking. Take it slow. One foot in front of the other. It seems to take an age and he’s surprised when he finds himself in the shower, braced against the wall once again. He wants to lean back against it, but doesn’t dare. He wants to slide down and sit on the floor, but knows it’s not allowed. His back is turned so he can’t see when Jim enters the room. There’s a splash against his back and he lets out a sharp hiss, legs shaking with the effort to stand. Vinegar. The sting is sharp, painful and Jim only makes it worse by pressing his palm against Seb’s back and grinding it down into the skin. He bites his lip hard but it doesn’t stop the soft whimpering in the base of his throat.

He loses track of what happens after that. The knife comes back, and Jim makes skillful use of his perfectly manicured nails. He’s pretty sure there’s a box cutter involved at one point. By the time it’s over, he’s dripping blood onto the shower floor and everything hurts. Jim blasts the cold water over him until it runs clear, and Sebastian very nearly ends up in a shivering heap on the floor.

“You can stay in the spare room tonight. Try and not get blood on the sheets, won’t you?” With that Jim is gone, disappearing into their room as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Probably off to work on finding the mark’s new location.

Sebastian tries to step out of the shower, but his legs won’t cooperate. He lets his body give out, sliding into a painful mess in the puddle of cold, pink water remaining on the shower floor. Seb doesn’t know how long he sits there, wet and shivering. Each convulsion of muscles sends a bolt of pain through him. He started crying somewhere along the line and now it softens into quiet sobs.

After a while he attempts to stand again, this time managing to drag himself through the pain. He raids the medicine cabinet, swallowing several painkillers with water from the tap. Curling a large bath towel around him, he heads for the spare room. Still clad in towel, he slips beneath the blanket and is asleep within minutes, completely drained.

When he wakes it’s late afternoon. There’s a glass of water and a packet of painkillers on his bedside table on top of the first aid kit. Sebastian pushes himself up, groaning at the pain that covers his body. He takes more tablets before attempting to clean and bandage the worst of his injuries. Jim appears in the door halfway through the process.

“Heard you moving,” he explains, setting a hot cup of tea on the bedside table. Without a word he lifts a roll of gauze and moves behind Sebastian. He seems to take joy in the little jolts of pain the antiseptic causes Seb as he cleans the worst of his back wounds. Any that seem deep enough get a strip of gauze. When he’s done he ruffles Seb’s hair playfully, slipping off the bed again.

“Your hits are cleared for the next few days. You’re flying out on Tuesday to finish the job. This time I expect you to do it properly.”

Sebastian smiles slightly. Despite everything Jim puts him through he knows the criminal has his own kind of fondness for him. Anyone else would have ended up dead after yesterday. It might be his own love for Jim or just a side effect of the painkillers, but he doesn’t respond with any of the angry retorts he could.

“Yes boss.”

“And if there’s any blood on those sheets I expect you to change them.”

“Of course.”


End file.
